


don't call me angel

by LeilaKalomi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is So Done (Good Omens), Ballroom Dancing, Bullying, But nothing too dark, Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Dancer Crowley (Good Omens), Dirty Dancing, Employee Retreat, Fluff, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Humor, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Yoga, mentions of health issues and surgery in a minor character, probably light angst because this is me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilaKalomi/pseuds/LeilaKalomi
Summary: When Ethereal Electronics sends its software developers on a retreat at St. Beryl’s Resort, Aziraphale Fell, constantly mocked by his coworkers, feels trapped. But at the retreat center, he finds himself drawn to Anthony Crowley, a dance instructor, and sees an opportunity to help someone in need as he rediscovers one of his youthful pastimes—ballroom dancing—and finds a new passion altogether in Anthony Crowley.Loosely based onDirty Dancing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 115
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to EveningStarcatcher for the beta read!

“You ready, buddy?” Gabriel clapped Aziraphale on the back, nearly knocking his chin into the front seats, where Uriel and Michael sat.

“I—oh, yes, of course. I mean, that is, I suppose. I must be,” Aziraphale finished, lamely. Uriel caught Gabriel’s eye and looked away. Aziraphale felt his face heating. The others were unbuckling their seatbelts and Michael had already descended from the all-terrain vehicle and was looking around the place as if searching for something to disapprove of and not quite finding it. Aziraphale took two deep breaths and hoisted his small tartan toiletry case as Uriel, Gabriel, and Sandalphon got down. He made it out just after Sandalphon did, and gave an apologetic nod when Gabriel gave him an impatient stare.

He trudged along behind them as they trudged up the gravel path for the check-in at St. Beryl’s retreat center. Across the field he heard a shout and turned to look at the group there, just as a haggard-looking man with a shock of white hair raised a weapon and fired, blue blooming across the shirt of one of his colleagues. Aziraphale knew that it was paint, but he felt an answering clenching in his own chest and took a deep breath, clutching his hand over his heart.

Gabriel turned at the sound and gave a hearty chortle, reaching back to clap him on the shoulder again, so hard that his shoulder collapsed, his knees nearly caving in.

“It’s just paintball, _Angel_ ,” he said. “Oh, don’t tell me you have a problem with toy guns.”

That bloody nickname again. He barely noticed it until someone said in that _tone_. After all this time, he hadn’t managed to shed it. After all the code he’d developed, all the bugs he’d fixed, and still, he was mostly known for the one particular kind of effort he made, _trying_ to keep the company inclusive and at least somewhat ethical.

“It’ll be good for you to get some face time with everyone,” Gabriel said. “That’s why I asked you to be here. You know, Angel, we are all on the same side. Ethereal Electronics! Just one big team!”

_Oh dear._

This was going to be a very long three weeks.

* * *

Aziraphale had just settled into his room and opened one of his favorite novels, _The Brothers Karamazov_. His hand twitched toward the platter of snacks he had gathered from the Welcome Center, but just then, there was a pounding on the door.

He sighed.

The pounding continued, or rather, repeated in the same pattern, the jaunty “shave-and a haircut” knock. _Infuriating, really,_ he thought. There was, of course, only one person it could be. _Insufferable man._ Angrily, he jerked open the door, arranging his currently scowling face into something pleasant but not welcoming.

“Ah, Gabriel,” he said.

“Yoga!” Gabriel was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt. He held up a water bottle and a rolled up rubber mat. “Come on, it’ll be great! You know, listen to your breath and all that. Get grounded.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t think—”

“Come on! We’re all going! Don’t want anyone left out.”

“Well, in this case, I think, I really am _happy_ to be left—”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud! Come on! It’s all about transcendence and oneness. Can’t have oneness if we’re not together, can we? Get changed, Angel.”

The tone of this last was such that it reminded Aziraphale, none too subtly, that Gabriel was his boss. He was powerless to do anything but nod, shut the door, and comb through his luggage for something suitable to wear.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, clad in a pair of white linen trousers and a soft, baggy t-shirt he would ordinarily have worn as an undershirt beneath a sweater, Aziraphale stood atop one of the center’s rubber mats, trying not to think about all of the sweaty, bare feet that had stood atop it before his. On one side of him, Gabriel stood with one foot pressed into his inner thigh, breathing loudly in a poor imitation of the ujjayi breath the teacher had demonstrated, while somehow grinning at the same time. On his other side, Uriel stood in the same pose, her eyes closed and hands extended above her head. (Despite what Gabriel had said earlier, Sandalphon and Michael were nowhere to be found.) Aziraphale wobbled quietly with his foot grazing the inside of his ankle. His arms were out at about hip level as he tried to hold his balance.

The man at the front of the room, tall with locs and a picture of a chameleon on his shirt, was saying in a low rumble, “That’s right. Breathe. And don’t worry if you’re not in a full tree pose.” his eyes fell on Aziraphale at this, and he seemed to smirk. “Do what’s right for your body.”

Gabriel looked over at Aziraphale, his eyes dropping to his soft stomach. He winked.

* * *

After yoga, Aziraphale seethed as he sprayed down his mat. He wiped it carefully before rolling it up and putting it away. Gabriel and Uriel stood outside, waiting impatiently for him.

“Angel cleaned his mat like they’re paying him to,” Uriel said, smirking.

“Never does anything halfway,” Gabriel said.

“Except programming.”

Aziraphale wished they had gone on without him.

“Let’s hit the smoothie bar,” Gabriel suggested. “Then we can break to shower and change in time to meet Sandy and Michael at the bar for dinner and drinks and the show.”

“Oh, perfect,” Uriel said. “I’ve heard the dance show here is stunning.”

Gabriel pulled a face. “Not much for ballroom,” he said. “I mean, I can foxtrot and all, but, you know. Not much to it, is there? It always seems pretty dull to me.”

“Oh, not at all!” Aziraphale said, without thinking. A ballroom dance show? This was the first thing he’d heard all evening that sounded worth sticking around for.

“Yeah? You like ballroom dance?” Gabriel says. “Figures you’d like something dry and stuffy like that.”

“Oh, but the tango, the mamba…” Aziraphale said. “There’s nothing stuffy at all about it, my dear fellow. Why, in my university days—”

But he broke off here, because Gabriel was laughing.

“You? Tango? Yeah, no. Pics or it didn’t happen.” He winked at Uriel, who was shaking her head skeptically.

Aziraphale huffed. Across the room at the smoothie bar, he watched as the attendant, a sharp-featured young man wearing eyeliner, poured some sort of green sludge into a cup and slid it across to a woman with a blond topknot. He excused himself from the smoothies and retreated to his room, where, for the first time, he checked the itinerary they’d all been given at check-in. He didn’t want to miss the show.

* * *

Aziraphale got caught up in his reading. Or at least, that was what he told himself, as he made no effort at all to check the clock until the sun had gone down, and all of his nibbles were gone.

He slid out his mobile and peeked at the time. Perfect. No one would expect him to order dinner at this hour. He could simply have a drink, perhaps a dessert, and watch the performance. Perhaps the other developers would even keep their mouths shut so he might watch in peace.

As he approached the ballroom, he could hear the clank of glasses and silverware on plates, and then—he must have been later than he realized, a change in the music, from something sedate and background, to something louder, more passionate. A rumba!

He pushed open a door at one end and slid in quietly. In the center of the floor, illuminated by a single floodlight, a man and woman swayed in each other’s arms, then the man lifted the woman, who flung out one leg as the man pressed her body against his. The man’s delicate-featured face became visible over a neat spray of red hair, half-gathered into a low bun. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses. Aziraphale stared, transfixed. Not by the dancing, but by the man, who was currently shaking his narrow hips. He wore a pair of close-fitting, shiny trousers that left very little to the imagination, and when he threw his head back, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the line of his jaw, the glorious stretch of his long neck, and the sharp, almost pretty features. Oh, good _lord_. It had been a very long time since the sight of anyone had done _that_ to Aziraphale.

When their dance ended, Aziraphale applauded with the others, ignoring Gabriel’s attempts to catch his eye across the room. He approached the couple as they split apart, hoping, without letting himself think too much about it, to catch the man’s eye, but instead, the woman turned to him and took his hands, and worst of all, when Aziraphale looked up, the man was dancing with Uriel.

At the front of the room, as Aziraphale began to lead the woman in steps he hadn’t done for more than fifteen years, Mary Hodges took the stage, grinning. The music softened and she spoke into the mic.

“If you enjoyed that performance, please consider signing up for our dance lessons while you’re here. Our wonderful instructors, Anthony Crowley and Sherry Dagon both come from Broadway and are absolutely world class!”

Aziraphale’s eyes wandered back across to Anthony Crowley just as Uriel trod on his foot. She did not apologize. He winced and, with his eyes closed, inadvertently plowed into Ms. Dagon.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear!” He reached out a hand to steady her, but she didn’t need it, so it hovered awkwardly in the air.

“Whatever,” she said. “It happens. Why don’t we try a nice foxtrot?”

Aziraphale nodded glumly. Across the way, he saw Gabriel speaking with Ms. Hodges. When the song ended, the familiar notes of the Chicken Dance began, and Gabriel moved out onto the floor, grinning and nodding his thanks at Ms. Hodges as the band (and Anthony Crowley and Ms. Dagon...and Aziraphale for that matter) looked around in dismay.

“Yeah, I’m _not_ dancing to this,” Ms. Dagon said.

“Quite,” Aziraphale agreed. He smiled at her. She pursed her lips and looked away. Following her gaze, he saw Anthony Crowley at its end. He nodded at Ms. Dagon but, under the insistent gesturing of Ms. Hodges, took his place on the end of one row and dutifully began to flap along to the music. Aziraphale edged away to the bar, unable to bear it.

“Fuck,” Ms. Dagon said, joining the nearest row.

Aziraphale asked for a whiskey, half a pint.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets Crowley!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to EveningStarcatcher for the beta read!

_It’s electric!_

Aziraphale startled as the next song began to Gabriel’s obvious delight—some dreadful American bebop that threatened to teach the listener something called _the Electric Slide_ (as if the Cha Cha Slide wasn’t bad enough). Aziraphale huffed and decided to take a spin around the perimeter. Outdoors.

He managed to escape, drink in hand, unseen and unhindered (by Gabriel). Unfortunately, the outdoors was hardly the silent, solitary utopia he’d hoped. The band, also disgusted with the canned music, had fled outside. Some of the musicians were playing quietly toward the center of the field, where a couple of staff danced. Aziraphale did not see Ms. Dagon and Anthony Crowley among them. He leaned against the cool wall and sipped his whiskey, trying to tune out the faint strains of violin wafting across the yard and the inane music coming from inside.

He thought again of Anthony Crowley doing the chicken dance and winced. He was glad he didn’t have to see the beautiful man shuffling along after Gabriel, who had taken upon it himself to do as the song threatened.

“It’s so popular in America!” he’d been shouting to the room at large as Aziraphale had walked out. “How do you not know this here?”

Then he heard a cold, familiar female voice coming from around the corner.

“What does it matter?” said the voice. “I can’t very well take the time off.”

“Fuck that,” said a man’s voice, soft and broguey. “You’re not some dancing monkey.”

“Might as well be. And you’re no better. You’d do well to remember it, too. These tech laggies don’t give a fuck about you. Even if they do like to...” Aziraphale recognized the voice now. Ms. Dagon.

“Fuck me?” said the other voice, bitter now, but with a smile hidden in it.

Quietly, Aziraphale edged closer to the corner and saw Anthony Crowley jump back as Ms. Dagon flicked a long bit of ash off a cigarette as Aziraphale rustled through the grass. Ms. Dagon turned, exhaling a cloud of smoke directly into his face. In characteristic, embarrassing fashion, Aziraphale began to cough.

“ _Hello_ ,” Anthony Crowley said.

“Speak of the devil,” Ms. Dagon said. Aziraphale bristled, drawing himself up as he struggled to get his coughing under control. A misguided sip of whiskey did nothing to quell the fit.

“Now, Dagon,” Anthony Crowley said. “Don’t be rude to the guest.” He turned to Aziraphale. “I’m Crowley. What’s your name and why are you out here listening to the help?”

“I’m...ah, Angel, actually. I’m not... _listening to the help_ so much as I am avoiding listening to _…_

 _“....woogie woogie woogie…”_ came a strain from inside. Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open.

“...that,” he said.

“Well, it’s mostly over now,” Ms. Dagon said. “Do you think you can bear the Cha Cha Slide? They’ll probably do that one next and then our hard-earned break will be over.”

“I am sorry to intrude,” Aziraphale said, his eyes catching on Crowley’s, which were large and dramatic and oddly soulful without his sunglasses. He took two steps backward, and began to turn away, but then he stopped, unable to get the image of Crowley’s gaze out of his mind. “I did hear...you were in need of some time off.”

Dagon scowled. “What’s it to you?”

“I have a history with ballroom dance,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps I might be of service.”

Crowley grinned. 

“How, exactly would that _help_?” Dagon snapped. “You can’t really _replace_ me.”

Aziraphale felt his face grow hot.

“Oh, well, no, I suppose I—”

“Why not?” Crowley said.

“What?” Aziraphale said.

“I said why not. I don’t see why you couldn’t replace her.”

“Right,” said Dagon. “Ran into me on a basic turn this one did. And how would he look in a ballgown?”

“Better than you, I’d wager,” Crowley said, grinning. Dagon rolled her eyes and Crowley lunged forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek. _Oh._ She shoved him away, laughing. Aziraphale felt foolish, as if they were making fun of him. But then Dagon spoke.

“Crowley, they’d never go for it. You know this place used to be a godforsaken _nunnery_.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not a nunnery anymore. So. About time they got with the program. I mean, isn’t that what all that tech stuff is about? New ways of seeing the world? What’s wrong with two blokes dancing?”

“Nothing at all,” Aziraphale said, reflexively.

“So. You up for it?”

“Crowley,” Dagon said, a sharp tone of warning in her voice. Crowley ignored her.

The music inside subsided, leaving only the strain of violins wafting across the yard.

Aziraphale turned to look up at the house, and saw Gabriel standing out on the porch, glancing over the grounds. Looking for him, he realized. He stepped fully around the corner and nodded.

“Yes, I think I...I’d love to be your partner, Mr. Crowley. I’d be honored to help Ms. Dagon in whatever way I can.”

“Oh,” said Dagon. “ _In whatever way he can_ , says the fucking _angel_.”

Aziraphale felt hot, sweaty. What was wrong with him? But Crowley just smiled.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Angel,” he said. “Dagon will be singing a different tune in a couple of weeks. You’re really doing her a favor.”

Dagon scoffed. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said.

 _Fair enough_ , Aziraphale thought, looking at Crowley, those sharp features arranged into that soft smile. He felt pleased with himself, even if Dagon didn’t. And if Crowley’s look was anything to go by, so did he.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale navigates the second and third days of the retreat while looking for Crowley and trying to stay out of Gabriel's reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: fat shaming; comments about food/eating; associated unwanted touching (nonsexual); general bullying from coworkers.
> 
> Thank you to EveningStarcatcher for the beta read!

Aziraphale spent the whole of the next day thinking about the exchange from the night before. He’d been so pleased with himself for impressing Crowley and eluding Gabriel, but he had no idea how to make good on his promise. He hadn’t given Crowley or Dagon his number, hadn’t gotten either of theirs. And he had no idea where to find them, though they must have been somewhere on the resort grounds.

He’d managed to avoid Gabriel by rising early for breakfast, then spending the rest of the morning exploring the grounds, including a library from the facility’s days as a convent. At lunch, he ate a sandwich he’d smuggled from the dining hall that morning, and then slipped out for a long walk just before the time of that awful yoga class.

There was no missing dinner, not with his stomach grumbling the way it was. He convinced himself it would be just tolerable for the sake of looking for information on dance lessons (which, to him, translated to information on how to find Crowley and Dagon). But he wasn’t really sure if he should. By now, he’d nearly convinced himself that Crowley had been teasing him. He and Dagon were probably quite happy together, and not at all in need of his interference.

_How would he look in a ball gown?_

_Better than you._

Crowley’s smile had been so soft, so gentle. But then it had turned sharp and he’d kissed Dagon on the cheek. Aziraphale hadn’t gotten much of a read on him.

As he rounded the corner at the base of the stairs, he was greeted with a “Well, well, well, look who’s finally decided to _grace_ us with his presence.”

Sandalphon. And of course, Gabriel and the rest were just a few steps behind.

“Grace! Good one, Sandalphon! Amazing! Get it?” Gabriel guffawed, then turned to Aziraphale. “Hey buddy. We missed you today. Thought for sure you’d turn up for yoga!”

“Well,” Aziraphale began. He offered a tepid smile. “I’m here now.”

“He’s here now!” Gabriel cried. “You hear this guy! Almost as good as Sandalphon!”

Aziraphale was not successful at slipping away to find a pamphlet or look for Ms. Hodges. Instead, he ordered something quick to eat and managed to escape as the dishes were being cleared.

He checked the website that night, but couldn’t find any information on the activities beyond a general list.

* * *

Having had a decent amount of luck in avoiding his coworkers the day before, he woke early on the third day and went downstairs to the dining hall for another early breakfast. He’d just started putting together a turkey croissant to wrap in a napkin for lunch when his phone pinged. He sighed and moved away from the table to check it.

**To: Developers (retreat group)**

**Gabriel:** _laser tag today, don’t forget! 1pm! (I’m looking at you, Angel—or should I say, Ghost!?!) And lunch after!_

Aziraphale sighed. He’d known, of course, that he wouldn’t be able to avoid them every day, but he had hoped for just one more day free of humiliation and terrible humor. Besides, he’d planned to explore the interior of the huge building today, and hopefully, to locate the dance studio and loiter nearby until Crowley emerged and raised the topic of the two of them dancing together. Oh, but it was ridiculous. It was embarrassing even to think about. Of course Crowley hadn’t meant it. Unless.

Which was why Crowley would have to bring it up. Which he couldn’t do if Aziraphale never saw him again.

His phone pinged again and he huffed.

 **Gabriel:** _Wear comfortable shoes!_

 **Sandalphon:** _He’s still looking at you angel_

 **Michael:** _Somehow, I am having real trouble picturing Angel in sneakers._

 **Uriel:** _oh, there’s a thought._

 **Sandalphon:** _Oh there’s a thought indeed_

 **Gabriel:** _Now guys! Angel just has different notions about these things. But we do want everyone to be able to run around unencumbered! No one at a disadvantage! Not even Angel!_

 **Aziraphale:** _I will dress appropriately._

 **Gabriel:** _See? He can do it! I bet he’ll even turn up with no bowtie or waistcoat._

Aziraphale tugged self-consciously at his bowtie and looked down at his waistcoat, smoothing his hands over it. What difference did it make what he wore as long as he was comfortable and able to do his job?

Though, for laser tag. Well, he could hardly imagine ever being comfortable or particularly skilled there.

He silenced his mobile and poured himself another mug of cocoa, added whipped cream, and returned to his table with it and the croissant he’d been about to fill, which he ate plain instead.

* * *

A little after noon, Aziraphale returned from his morning exploration of the building. He’d gotten sidetracked in the library again and hadn’t spent as much time as he’d wanted looking for the various activity rooms, so he’d had no luck with the dance studio yet. He removed his waistcoat and bowtie, adjusted his braces, and changed his brogues for oxfords with a rubber sole. They would have to do.

He took out his mobile and checked it one more time before leaving the room to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

_42 missed messages._

Oh, fuck.

 **Gabriel:** _Angel, where are you? (22 minutes ago)_

Aziraphale sighed and scrolled up. Apparently everyone had agreed to go for what Gabriel had termed “fortifying smoothies” before laser tag.

There was also a private message:

 **Gabriel:** _Angel, we are all in the lobby, waiting. Ms. Hodges is already here. Can I get an ETA on your arrival? (5 minutes ago)_

An ETA on his _arrival_? What did the man think the _A_ stood for? _Jesus Christ_. Aziraphale checked his watch. It wasn’t even noon yet! He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, doubtless frizzing it even more than usual. Why was it always like this? Why was he always wrong, even when he tried so hard? As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the little group of coworkers assembled at its base, Sandalphon turned toward him and extended one hand in his direction.

“The angel descends,” he said.

Gabriel clapped Sandalphon on the back. “Good one, buddy! Ready, Angel?”

Ms. Hodges smiled and led them down a hall to a large, carpeted room. She showed them a set of vests and laser guns, and after giving them a few minutes to suit up, turned the lights off and went into what she termed the “control room.”

“I’m still here,” she said. “In case you have any issues.”

“Let’s choose teams!” Gabriel said. “Michael, you’re the other captain. I’m going with Uriel!”

Michael hesitated, looking between Aziraphale and Sandalphon.

“Angel, then. I guess,” she said.

“Great. Sandy, buddy, you’re with us! The dream team,” Gabriel said. He raised two fingers to his eyes, then turned them back to point at Aziraphale and Michael. _I’m watching you._

“We are going to absolutely destroy you,” Michael said, in a voice of cold steel. Aziraphale shivered. He wanted to raise his hand to signal to Ms. Hodges then and there. He definitely had a few issues.

* * *

After laser tag, they walked to lunch, Aziraphale’s thigh throbbing from where Michael had stood on him to get a better shot at Gabriel. She’d been his reluctant teammate, with Sandalphon, Gabriel, and Uriel on a team together.

“Not too hungry,” Gabriel said as he took a seat out on the deck behind the dining hall.

“Right?” Uriel said. “Those smoothies were super filling.”

“Lots of protein,” Michael added.

“And so nutritious,” Sandalphon added, with a simpering smile at Gabriel.

“Bet this one’s hungry,” Gabriel said, nodding at Aziraphale. “Right, buddy? No health food for you!” He leaned forward and patted Aziraphale gently on the belly.

Aziraphale jolted back and felt his mouth come open slightly. He had to force himself to close it. They were only teasing, he reminded himself.

“I do try to eat a balanced diet.” His voice sounded quieter than he’d meant it to.

Everyone laughed.

“Course you do,” Gabriel said. “Going to join Uriel and me for yoga today?”

“Well, I—”

“Come _on_ ,” Uriel said, but there was no enthusiasm in her voice, only a kind of cold annoyance.

“You take yourself too seriously,” Michael said. Aziraphale swallowed his desire to retort that she hadn’t exactly volunteered for the class, and that when it came to taking oneself seriously, Michael could hardly stand to criticize. After all, _Aziraphale_ wasn’t the one who’d trod on another person for the sake of laser tag.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and Aziraphale found himself nodding, somehow. Inside, his stomach sank. Well, there went the rest of the day.

* * *

Nevertheless, it was as he was making his way back to his room from yoga that a door toward the end of the hall opened, and a gangly set of limbs and red hair spilled out, laughing.

Crowley.

Aziraphale froze. Gabriel and Uriel had, blessedly, walked off without waiting for him to wipe down the mat this time. He was free to say hello. But how could he? His face burned. The man had been joking, of course. He hadn’t really wanted—

“Angel!”

There was no trace of mocking in Crowley’s voice. He stepped closer, a slight smile playing about his lips, his eyes hiding behind his sunglasses. But the curve of his lips was sincere, and he leaned toward Aziraphale eagerly.

“How’s your _retreat_?” he asked, enunciating carefully.

“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale said, his eyes tracing over the swoop of Crowley’s hair, which was loose and hung down to his shoulders, curling slightly toward the ends.

“Good, good.”

“Do you, ah, give dance lessons?”

“That’s generally the job of a dance instructor.”

“Right, well, I...yes, sorry.”

“No, no. You...would you _like_ a dance lesson?”

“Well, I had thought—”

Crowley tilted his head at Aziraphale. “Look, Dagon’s not available right now.”

“Oh, well I—”

“ _But_ ,” Crowley said. “If you don’t take any issue with two blokes dancing, then I would very much like to dance with you. Lesson or no.”

Aziraphale felt lightheaded. Crowley’s smile grew, his teeth shining in the fluorescent light of the hall.

“Just think how happy we’ll make Dagon,” Crowley added in a teasing tone. “When she realizes what _capable_ hands she’s got to help her out.”

“Well!” Aziraphale said. “There’s no need to mock me, _Mr._ Crowley.”

“No, no! Not mocking! Never mocking.” Crowley’s hand shot out and rested gently on his arm. “Come on, Angel. I mean it. Let’s dance. Let’s see what we can do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley dance together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mentions of infidelity; flashbacks to Gabriel's fatshaming from the previous chapter, and worries about weight.
> 
> Thanks to EveningStarcatcher for the beta read!

Aziraphale reminded himself that this meant nothing as he followed Crowley into the room he’d come out of, which was, of course, the elusive dance studio. A tango played on the sound system and the front of the room was a wall of mirrors. An older woman was inside, sitting in a wooden chair just inside the door and swapping a pair of high-heeled dance shoes for a pair of bright red flats that clashed horribly with the vivid orange of her hair.

“Said you’re going for water, but I see you got something better,” she said, winking at the two of them as they entered. Crowley nodded at her.

She stood up, grabbed a leather bag from the hook by the door, and breezed out, floral muumuu trailing behind her. Crowley crossed the room and turned off the music before turning back again to face Aziraphale with a smirk. They were alone.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, feeling awkward and self-conscious in front of Crowley and the wall of mirrors. “Water.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. He sighed. “Actually, still a bit thirsty...would you mind?”

“No, I’d...love some as well. As long as...well...”

“Well, I’d much prefer not to go down to the Welcome Center or over to the smoothie bar to get it. I’m afraid I’m rather avoiding some people.”

“What’s the deal with that?” Crowley asked. “You looked pretty skittish that first night you were here.”

“My...boss, Gabriel. He’s the one who requested the Chicken Dance. And that awful American thing. Although, well. I suppose that phrase could be used to describe Gabriel himself.”

Crowley let out a bark of laughter.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? He must be pretty awful to have _you_ running. They all must be.”

“Oh, but you don’t know me at all. How could you know what sort of thing I’d run from?”

Crowley smiled. “You haven’t run from me.”

Aziraphale couldn’t resist returning the smile. The moment stretched out too long, the two of them looking at each other across the room, and when Aziraphale realized, he gave a cough, looking down, across the room, anywhere but at Crowley.

“Ngk. Look, wait here, OK?” Crowley said. “Feel free to warm up. Although maybe you already have? Yoga, right?”

Aziraphale nodded and looked down at his attire, feeling vaguely embarrassed. Crowley’s black trousers and fitted t-shirt looked deliberate, flattering, unlike his loose, cobbled-together ensemble. He was slightly sweaty and Crowley hadn’t been wrong that he was already feeling pretty warm, but it wouldn’t hurt to practice a few things.

“Right, well.”

“Water,” Aziraphale said, smiling.

“Water,” Crowley repeated. He ducked his head, then crossed the room again and darted back out into the hall.

* * *

In Crowley’s absence, Aziraphale hummed the tango that had been playing and began to move his hips. Gradually, he added in a bit of footwork, a few turns. His form was all right, from what he could see in the mirrors, his back straight, the angles of his arms precise. He imagined a partner, and without thinking, began working through the steps of one of his old routines. When he tried to imagine Crowley in place of any of the women who had been his past partners, he wasn’t quite sure what to do when he came to a spin, a turn, a lift. Hmm…well, they’d work it out.

He lost himself in the dance, moving his arms, wiggling his hips, offering a little shimmy, a spin he wasn’t sure he remembered quite right, and then he heard a click, and looked up to see Crowley standing at the speakers, tinkering with the iphone docked there and smirking at him out the corner of his eyes. There were two bottles of water sat beside him, one open and half-empty.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, his face growing hot.

“I see you meant it, then,” Crowley said. “You do know how to dance.”

Aziraphale stepped closer and swiped the water bottle from the counter, mostly to distract himself from the feeling of self-consciousness creeping over him as Crowley watched him, a sly smile playing about his lips. He poked at the screen of his iPhone as Aziraphale drained half of the water bottle, then he turned to face him directly.

“Come on, then,” he said, holding his hands out and stepping close—so close Aziraphale nearly gasped—but then their hands were in each others’ and the music swelled. Crowley, to Aziraphale’s surprise, let him lead, and seemed to follow him intuitively, hardly hesitating as they made their way through Aziraphale’s old tango routine. Crowley was taller than Bianca had been, of course, and when it came time for a lift, Aziraphale gulped and brought him in for a spin instead. At the end, he held Crowley for a dip, and his breath caught when the man bent back nearly double.

“Oh,” he said, as the music ended and Crowley rolled his body up, his pelvis pressed tightly against Aziraphale, his breath warm on Aziraphale’s face. “You’re wonderful.”

Crowley smiled. “Yeah?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said again, realizing what he’d said. He realized then that he still had a hand pressed against Crowley’s back, keeping their bodies pressed together. He let go of Crowley, stepped back, and wrung his hands. “Oh, but of course you know that.”

“You’re not bad yourself, Angel,” Crowley said. The way he said it, it didn’t sound like a name, and more than that...well, it didn’t sound like Crowley thought an angel was a bad thing to be.

Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling at Crowley, who looked at him like he’d done something right. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him that way.

“I think you really could help out, if you’re up for it,” Crowley said.

“Just tell me what you need,” Aziraphale said. He would have said anything to keep Crowley looking at him that way.

“I know you’re here for your job,” Crowley said. “It would require a lot of rehearsing for the next two weeks. Are you—I mean, do you have the time?”

“I’ll make the time, if it’s important to you. To Ms. Dagon, I mean.”

“You’d save her her job,” Crowley said. “If we don’t have a show...well, I mean, we’d both probably be screwed. But her son...he has to have an operation.”

“Oh, Crowley. Say no more. Of course I’ll help.”

* * *

The next hour was intense: Crowley walked Aziraphale through the routine, and they went over the music, marking the steps without actually doing the full dance. They laughed when they got to the lifts, dips, and spins. When the song ended, Aziraphale tried to think of a tactful way to raise the issue.

“You’re nervous about the lifts,” Crowley said, before he could.

“Well, you’re taller,” Aziraphale said. “So, it might make more sense for you to direct the spins. But—well, I’m a good deal heavier. So—”

“If you don’t want me to lift you, I don’t have to. You can lift _me_ , if you want. And I’m good for the dips. Flexible, me.” Crowley smirked. Aziraphale remembered Crowley bent nearly double, his pelvis nearly flat against Aziraphale’s own. He felt his face growing hot again and looked away.

“Yes, I...recall.”

Crowley’s smirk deepened. “I _could_ lift you, though,” he said. “It’s no problem, really.”

“Oh, right,” Aziraphale said. “But well, I’m…”

Crowley stepped toward him, arms out. “You’re what? Gorgeous? Want me to show you?”

“Crowley, _really_ , I don’t see why—” Aziraphale knew his face was red, knew he was sweating beyond what the dancing had worked up.

“Can I? I won’t if you say no.”

“Well, go on then,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft and breathless. He thought of Gabriel’s hand on his stomach. _No health food for you_. Crowley set his hands on his waist, his touch firm, his arms taut and strong. Aziraphale reached up and put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders.

“Ready?”

Aziraphale nodded and pushed off, closing his eyes against the fear of falling, of knocking Crowley over.

“I’ve got you,” Crowley said.

And then he was light, lighter than air, and when he opened his eyes, Crowley was grinning up at him as he whirled him around, his sunglasses slipping from his face.

His eyes were large and lovely, with delicate lids and a bright, sweet expression Aziraphale wouldn’t have imagined for him, soft and open, but full of energy, with a web of crow’s feet that spoke of great expressiveness and feeling.

“Oh,” he said, as Crowley lowered him. Without thinking, his hand twitched up toward the sunglasses. But no, what was he doing?

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. His voice was shaking.

“Yeah?” Crowley was breathless too. There was a tension in the air between them, delicate and rippling, a filament hovering on a wind. Aziraphale’s hand twitched up again and Crowley caught his fingers, covered his hand as he brought it to Crowley’s cheek.

“Will you take them off?” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley nodded, but it was Aziraphale’s fingers that he lifted to the temples; it was Aziraphale who lifted them off, his heart pounding.

“Angel,” Crowley said.

And the name brought him back: Angel. They couldn’t just...not like this. What about Dagon? He was doing this to help Dagon. But he didn’t know...were they…? Crowley had kissed her. And now, he was leaning in, those lovely soft eyes trained on his lips. Oh, he’d flirted with Aziraphale, but he seemed the type to flirt with everyone. Aziraphale hadn’t thought it really _meant_ anything. Aziraphale wasn’t—he was too attracted to Crowley for anything casual, and, well, casual wasn’t something he _did_. And if Crowley and Dagon were...well, he just _couldn’t_.

“Oh, no, no,” Aziraphale said, their arms crashing together as he disentangled himself from Crowley, backing away. “We mustn’t. Oh, Crowley. Oh. I should...I really ought to...just go. Yes. I’ll go. Now. Good night!”

“Hey, wait! Sorry! I’m sorry! Oh, fuck, are you all right?” Crowley called as Aziraphale all but ran from the studio.

“Of course. Yes. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-boo. Mind how you go.” Aziraphale did not look back. His heart raced. He couldn’t think.

“ ’m not _going_!” Crowley shouted as Aziraphale rounded the corner. “You are!”

“Right you are,” Aziraphale murmured. He doubted Crowley could even hear him at this point. “Yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries to think through what happened in the dance studio, but Gabriel has plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: extreme snobbery; fears regarding possible infidelity.
> 
> Thanks to EveningStarcatcher for the beta read!

Aziraphale returned to his room, nearly in a trance. Inside, he locked the door behind himself and collapsed against it, trying to ignore the way his body was shaking. He couldn’t forget the feeling of Crowley’s warm, hard body against his, the feeling of his hand pressed so tenderly against his own, the supple skin of Crowley’s cheek beneath his fingers. Oh, what had he been thinking?

He pressed his fingers over his eyes and stood there, steadying his breath. Suddenly, his clothing felt uncomfortably damp with sweat, and he felt absolutely filthy. He yanked off the shirt, then the trousers and boxers and left them on the floor as he headed for the shower. It was best, perhaps, if he just tried not to think.

The water was hot and soothing on his tired muscles. For a moment, he was able to brush away his doubts and self-recriminations and simply breathe, luxuriating in the warmth. Then the prickle of embarrassment wore him down and he sighed, reaching for his soap to begin the chore of washing away the long, arduous day.

The problem now was not so much that Crowley had tried to kiss him, but the way Aziraphale had reacted. Except that it had been a very long time since he’d been with anyone, he had no idea why he had been quite so alarmed. He’d _wanted_ to kiss Crowley. He’d certainly been flirting with him, had certainly had kissing on his mind, even if only unconsciously, when he’d gone to remove those infernal sunglasses. And dear god, his _eyes..._

And on reflection, there was really no reason to react that way because of Dagon. He’d overheard them talking about Crowley’s _popularity_ with the other guests, after all. Which certainly suggested that he wouldn’t be alone in having somehow attracted his interest. And if Aziraphale had wanted to make it clear that he was not interested in a casual connection, or that he needed clarification about Crowley and Dagon’s relationship before proceeding, he could have simply done so without making a scene.

Except. He’d gotten so flustered. He’d been unable to even think in that moment, and now he’d never get it back—would never get that chance again. He’d undoubtedly scared Crowley off and surely Crowley wouldn’t think Aziraphale was worth another try. Crowley had probably only leaned in on a whim. Perhaps he even regretted it already. Perhaps he was glad Aziraphale had stopped it. Perhaps he’d never wish to speak of it again.

Aziraphale would have to approach him again, though, would have to simply ask for his forgiveness and hope that they could move forward. He wasn’t going to let his shame stop him from helping Ms. Dagon with her sick child.

Even with the embarrassment, it was sure to be a better way to spend his time than taking that blessed yoga class and drinking those bilious-looking smoothies with the rest of the team. The dance studio would be, if nothing else, a convenient hiding place.

Aziraphale had just rinsed the conditioner from his hair when there was a pounding on his door. He groaned and turned off the water, feeling a prickle of annoyance and a slight thrill he tried to push away. It wasn’t Crowley. It couldn't be. No matter how much he might wish it. He dried himself hurriedly as the banging intensified. Definitely not Crowley, he thought.

“Coming!” he called.

Still dripping, he struggled out to the door and peered through the peephole, frantically rubbing at his hair with his damp towel. Gabriel. Of course.

“Come on, Angel. I know you’re in there! I could hear the water!”

“Well, then, you understand why I can’t open the door,” Aziraphale called.

“What?”

Aziraphale sighed, unwilling to shout.

“Look, just meet us at dinner, all right? We’re doing some teambuilding and I don’t want you skipping out. It just feels like you’re not really on the same page as the rest of us, you know? So we’re not going to start without you.”

“Fine.”

“Look, I can’t hear you. Can you speak up?”

“ _Fine_ , Gabriel!” Aziraphale shouted, feeling shame and frustration crest over him. He did so hate to shout.

“Whoa, OK, calm down! We’re all on the same side, remember? See you down there, buddy!”

Loud footsteps hurried away.

Aziraphale rubbed his body red with the towel. “Oh, fuck!” he whispered.

* * *

He dressed quickly, sweating in his clothes as he put them on and feeling uncomfortably damp and frustrated. _We’re not going to start without you._ What did that even mean? Was Gabriel planning something? Was he planning something _for Aziraphale_? Some sort of public display? Over dinner? Aziraphale felt sick at the thought.

He picked up his mobile as he passed his dresser and looked down at it as he pulled the door closed behind him. More inane text messages from Gabriel and the rest. He sighed and slid it into his pocket without bothering to read them.

As Aziraphale got to the bottom of the staircase, he glimpsed a flash of red hair from the far corner, near one of the staff exits. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing over. Crowley (because of course it was Crowley) stood with Dagon and a small, curly-haired boy, who was...hugging Crowley? As he watched, Crowley reached out to pull Dagon into the embrace. Aziraphale gasped and hurried into the dining hall, not wanting to see any more. Were they a family? The three of them? And he’d...oh, no. He felt uncomfortably hot and his face burned, his armpits prickling with sweat. This day, he felt, could hardly get any worse, but whatever Gabriel had in store for him would surely not make it any better.

“Angel!” Gabriel called as Aziraphale entered. He stood up and waved him over. “I went ahead and ordered for you.” Gabriel gestured at a plate of iceberg lettuce studded with several pallid tomatoes.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said. “Thank you, but I’m afraid this won’t do for tonight. Is there a menu?”

“They’ve already taken them,” Michael said. “We did say six o’clock.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid I’m really rather peckish. So, if you’ll excuse me a moment.”

“You just got here!” Gabriel said.

“Won’t be a moment.” Aziraphale felt his smile tremble and turned away, heading for the bar to ask for a menu.

At the bar, the bartender seemed to recognize him and pushed a glass of Talisker toward him as he approached. He’d just wrapped his hand around the cool glass when he heard a soft voice from behind him.

“Hey, Angel, can we talk?”

He could not ignore the flutter in his chest.

“Oh! Crowley.” He turned and saw Crowley standing there, sunglasses in place, but doing a rather poor job of hiding the tension he carried. His body was tightly drawn and too still.

“Yeah. Hey, look, I’m sorry about earlier. If you’d still want to—to work together, I. I wouldn’t do anything like that again. Really sorry. Just. Bit stupid sometimes.”

“No, no harm done. I...I’m sorry for the way I reacted. I’m sure there was no need to, to run off the way I did.”

Crowley smiled and Aziraphale couldn’t help returning it, couldn’t help the bubble of hope that forced words out of him that he knew he shouldn’t bother saying.

“It was only that I was worried, you see. I’ve never...never done anything like that with someone I’ve only just met. And there’s Dagon and...and the child, and—”

“You’re doing them a favor.”

“But, dear boy, you’re not... _with_ her? Romantically? Or, or well, as a partner. In the family...sense...”

Aziraphale trailed off as Crowley went still again. His mouth opened, lips working for a second, and then he closed it without an utterance. Finally, he spoke. “Dagon is—”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale saw a flutter of movement, then a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, Crawly was it?” said Gabriel. “Look, this man has important business to attend to. Is this really where you’re stationed for the evening? I thought you were a dancer.”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. He raised his hands, pressing them together.

“Gabriel, I was just speaking with Mr. _Crowley_ —”

“Crawly, you should probably leave the dining hall if you’re not on duty, or I’ll be speaking with Miss Hodges. Do you need a tip or something?”

“Gabriel, _really_.”

“Look, sunshine, I am all but out of patience here. Where’s the _menu_ , hmm? Last I looked, you were in search of a _snack_ , not a...whatever _this_ is you’ve got instead.” He gestured at Crowley.

“ _Well_ ,” Aziraphale said, drawing himself up. “Crowley has done nothing wrong, and I’ll thank you not to take your frustrations with me out on him.”

Gabriel shook his head, squinting at Aziraphale incredulously.

“What is this, Angel? I’m your boss. We are on an absolute _dream_ retreat, and I’m telling you I need you, and you’re throwing me over for some washed-up Broadway dancer?”

“Look, Angel was just trying to—” Crowley started.

“Stay out of this, _snake_. I know your type.”

Crowley went quiet, his face tight and pinched. Aziraphale took a deep breath and steeled himself.

“Gabriel. That’s enough. I’ve...I’ve had it. I cannot stand here and allow this. I will...I will simply...eat my dinner elsewhere. Crowley, would you—?”

“This is your job.”

Crowley flinched. “Angel, maybe I should just—”

“Crowley, no. Gabriel, I’m sorry, I was under the impression that it was a _retreat_. If you have an assignment for me, I am happy to hear it, but I will not stand by while you are rude to the staff.”

“Fine, well, it’s good to know what your priorities are, _Angel_. Somehow, I’m not surprised at all. Enjoy your night, both of you. I _will_ be speaking to Miss Hodges.”

Crowley frowned, but said nothing. His eyes were cast down. Aziraphale reached out then stopped himself and sighed. Gabriel gave him a long look, as if to say he’d seen the aborted touch and had _thoughts_ , but he gave a little shake of his head and turned to head back to the table, shrugging when Michael raised her eyebrows at his approach. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley.

“I’m terribly sorry about that,” he said.

“No worries.”

“I had no idea he’d—I mean, he’s always rather unpleasant, but this was a different order entirely. I’m really very sorry.”

“Angel, it’s fine.”

“It most certainly is not. Honestly, I’m embarrassed to even...well, perhaps, would you let me make it up to you?”

“No, no, come on. You’re already doing me a huge favor.”

Aziraphale thought of the little boy hugging Crowley again. Who was he to the child? He hesitated. Perhaps it wouldn’t be appropriate to suggest dinner.

“Well, I…”

Aziraphale’s stomach growled and he winced.

“Hungry?” Crowley said, casting a wary, pointed glance in the direction of Gabriel’s table. Aziraphale scoffed but did not follow his gaze.

“I am, quite. Would you...happen to know anywhere in the area where I might get a bite to eat?”

Crowley's eyes went wide. “Sure thing, let’s get out of here, Angel.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After agreeing to have dinner with Aziraphale, Crowley explains about Dagon. Later, Aziraphale explains about his job, and makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: canon-typical drinking

From the hall, Crowley led Aziraphale outside through the same door he’d seen him standing beside earlier with Dagon and the boy.

“It’s a staff exit,” he said. “You, uh, do want company, right? Or were you just asking me for directions?”

“I was...thinking,” Aziraphale trailed off. What _had_ he been thinking? Crowley hadn’t explained anything. What was so different, really, that he was now willing to go out to dinner with the man?

“Hey,” Crowley said. “Look, I know we got interrupted, but I was going to say, if it wasn’t obvious, I’m gay. Dagon is my friend. Like a sister, really. I’m godfather to her kid, Adam. So, that’s...that, you know? So I really appreciate your help with the show.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. He couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice. A fuzzy kind of lightness bubbled up in his chest. This was _happening_.

Crowley turned to him and quirked his lips in a half smile. “So, company?”

“Oh, well then. Yes, please.” Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, that would be delightful.”

* * *

Crowley led him to a garage, where he ushered him into an old-fashioned Bentley that he drove much faster than seemed prudent for such an old car on such narrow, country roads. They went to the Four Horsemen, a small pub in the nearby village of Lower Tadfield. Crowley waved to a man behind the bar as they entered and led Aziraphale straight to a table in the corner.

“What’ll you drink?” Crowley asked. “Whiskey?”

“Yes, Talisker, if they have it.”

“Oh, they _have_ it.” Crowley grinned. “Back in a sec.”

He walked off toward the bar and Aziraphale admired his narrow hips, mesmerized by the way they swayed as he wove through the crowd. And he wasn’t the only one looking—Crowley turned heads, many of which then swiveled to see who he was with. Aziraphale blushed.

When he returned, Crowley set down a full bottle of scotch and two tumblers, grinning wickedly. He poured for both of them and clinked his glass against Aziraphale’s.

“To getting away,” he said.

“Oh, indeed.” Aziraphale drank the whole glass, attempting to match Crowley. He felt oddly exhilarated, reckless, almost giddy. Crowley raised his eyebrows at him when he refilled his glass, and Aziraphale blushed, but took a sip anyway, relishing the way Crowley’s smile grew. There was something about being with Crowley that made him feel free, made him want to lean into the feeling. A waiter came and they ordered dinner. Aziraphale asked about dancing on Broadway, and Crowley told him a little, but he seemed humble, almost sad, so Aziraphale didn’t push.

“And you? How’d you end up working with that wanker?”

“Ah, well. That. It wasn’t always this way. I’ve been there nearly fifteen years,” Aziraphale said. “Most of them quite pleasant. But a few years ago, I switched from web to software and I noticed that a lot of the accessibility features—you know, making things work for screen readers, making sure the design is readable for people with color-blindness, and such—weren’t being incorporated. So I made a push for it. And, well, the software team, who’d never really seemed to care for me, started calling me…”

Aziraphale stopped himself. He didn’t know why. It stuck in his throat. He swallowed, and looked away. Then took another huge drink of his Talisker.

Crowley’s hand tapped his, just once, then lifted away.

“Calling you what, Angel?”

 _Angel_ , which he’d hated for so long until he’d grown to think of it as who he was. How could he explain why he’d started to use it himself? How could he explain that Crowley did not yet know his name? How could he explain that he liked the way the nickname sounded when Crowley used it, even though he’d hated it for so long from anyone else?

“Well, let’s just say I acquired a bit of a reputation. And they...they’ve made fun of me ever since. I tell myself they’re just teasing. But, well, it takes on a bit of a different tone, doesn’t it, when you’ve never fit in at all?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does. You ought to tell them off. They’re awful to you.”

“Oh, well. That was—I mean, that was just Gabriel. I thought, my dear, that he was a great deal worse to you than he ever is to me.”

“Well, I…”

The food arrived then, and Crowley stopped speaking. Aziraphale smiled as the waiter set down a steaming plate of shepherd's pie for Aziraphale and a scotch egg and bowl of leek soup for Crowley. He could sense Crowley’s apprehension, his relief at the interruption, but he didn’t want to let go of the subject, and when the waiter walked away, he continued, feeling bold.

“I was surprised. I did think you’d tell him off. You certainly told me what you thought, my first night here.”

But Crowley just shook his head. “Not your boss,” he said, picking up the egg. For a moment, Aziraphale felt foolish, but then Crowley went on, not looking at him. “Couldn’t get you in trouble like that.”

Aziraphale blushed. Or perhaps it was just the scotch, going to his head.

* * *

As they finished their meal, some sort of loud music began blaring from a speaker system. Aziraphale watched as people gradually stood and began to dance. This type of bebop didn’t ordinarily appeal to Aziraphale. But there was something beguiling about the thrum of it.

“Want to?” Crowley said. He stood up and held out a hand. Aziraphale took it and let Crowley pull him close.

“How does one— _oh_ ,” Crowley pressed himself close, the two of them moving together in little more than a back and forth undulation of bodies and hips.

“Yeah, just move,” Crowley said, his voice rough. “No real steps. That’s it.”

“I see.” Aziraphale’s voice came out little more than a whisper.

“You OK?”

Aziraphale laughed and rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. After a moment, he felt an arm snake around his back. He closed his eyes.

He did not know how long they danced together in this way, but after a while, and after a few more drinks, he knew that he was very sleepy. As they rocked together to a slow song, he asked Crowley,

“Are you...in any condition to drive?”

“There are rooms upstairs,” Crowley said. “We could...if you want. Are you...are you drunk?” Aziraphale could feel his breath on his neck. He wanted to say yes. But he’d never done such a thing. He didn’t know who he’d be if he did.

“No, but...,” he started.

“It’s OK,” Crowley said, pulling back. “I’m sorry. Said I wouldn’t. Look, I’m not drunk. But if you want, we can get rooms. Separate rooms.”

“Crowley, I...well, no. I trust you.”

Crowley froze, then blinked a few times in silence. He hesitated, then said, “Want to get out of here? Head back, I mean?”

Aziraphale nodded.

The car ride back was quiet. Aziraphale dozed against the window at intervals, and when they arrived, Crowley went around to open the door for him. Aziraphale stood up and found him there, close. Crowley started to step back, but Aziraphale reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Crowley…” he said.

“The doors should be open,” Crowley said. “You...you can get in OK.”

Aziraphale reached up and rested his fingers on the temples of Crowley’s sunglasses. When Crowley did not protest or move away, Aziraphale removed them.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” he said, pressing his fingertips to the web of lines at their edges. “I don’t know when I’ve ever seen someone so beautiful. I don’t think I ever have.”

Crowley shivered. “Angel, I—”

It was Aziraphale who closed the distance, Aziraphale who pressed his lips to Crowley’s, tasting whiskey and salt. Crowley moaned and wrapped his arms around him and pressed him up against the car, their bodies flush against each other. Aziraphale gasped and held him close, fingers threading through his hair.

“Come inside,” he said. “Please. Come up with me. If you like.”

“Are you...are you sure?” Crowley’s voice was high.

“I—yes. I’m sure.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's performance day! Also, we find out what happened the night Crowley came up to Aziraphale's room. And there's a bit of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to EveningStarcatcher for the beta read!
> 
> cw: nonexplicit sex; Gabriel-typical corporate bullying/mild gaslighting.

_10 days later_

“Lean back,” Crowley said. Aziraphale did, bringing his leg up further as Crowley supported him through the dip with a hand on his lower back. “Perfect, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled at the endearment as the music swelled in a final crescendo and came to an end.

“I think we’ve got it,” Crowley said. Aziraphale straightened up and took Crowley’s free hand in his. They stood, smiling at each other for a moment. Then Crowley leaned in and kissed him. “I knew you could do it. One more time?”

Aziraphale kissed him again, and Crowley laughed. “Not what I meant, but I’m not complaining.”

“I think I have to go, my dear. It’s already after 5, and Gabriel has been very insistent about dinners lately.”

Crowley gave a loud, theatrical groan, but he let go of Aziraphale’s hand, and went over to disconnect his phone from the speakers.

“Last rehearsal here tomorrow morning at 10,” he said. “And then the show’s in the evening. In the auditorium. Meet me—”

“At 4 pm, backstage. Yes.”

“Right. And you know where the auditorium—”

“You did show me, yes. And, so, ah, I suppose I won’t...be seeing you tonight, then?”

“I think we’d better sleep, yeah?”

“Oh yes, dear boy, right you are.”

Crowley crossed the room and met Aziraphale at the door, draping his arms loosely around his shoulders. He pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s and Aziraphale placed his hands on Crowley’s sides, sliding them down to his hips as he kissed him back, deep and slow.

“But _tomorrow_ evening,” Crowley said. “I mean, if you want…”

“I’m all yours, my dear.”

“Good, yeah,” Crowley breathed.

* * *

Aziraphale made his way back to his bedroom to shower and dress for dinner with something like seafoam bubbling in his chest. Over the last ten days, everything about his experience at St. Beryl’s had changed. In the mornings, he’d woken up with Crowley no fewer than four times—Crowley would sneak up in the evenings after midnight and push Aziraphale up against the wall of the shower, or let Aziraphale press him down into the mattress.

Their first night in his room had been different than Aziraphale had expected. Crowley had been so passionate, so sure, but in the room, he was careful, sweet, and gentle. He’d let Aziraphale lead, set the pace. He’d let Aziraphale talk, tell him how nervous he felt.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” he’d said, as he pulled back. He was holding Crowley against the door and Crowley’s hips pressed into his. Aziraphale had only leaned his face away enough to see Crowley. “It’s been...a very long time since I was with anyone. And never anyone I’d just...”

Crowley’s face changed then, but not in frustration or disappointment. It just softened. He looked at Aziraphale like he understood.

“It’s OK,” he’d said, his fingers stroking through Aziraphale’s hair. “We don’t have to do anything. Can just kiss, talk. Lie down a bit if you want.”

So they’d done just that, but Aziraphale couldn’t deny that he wanted more, and after a while, their kissing grew heated. They undressed slowly, but once their clothes were gone, things moved much faster. Aziraphale let Crowley show him what he liked, coaxed Crowley as he used his mouth and his fingers to wring him completely dry, and woke up the next morning with him naked and still wrapped in his arms. He’d looked even more beautiful than he had the night before. The sight of the rising sun catching in his hair made Aziraphale want to cry, so sure that it had been a fluke, something that would be over as soon as it had begun. He felt almost paralyzed with uncertainty.

When Crowley woke up, he’d leaned over and kissed Aziraphale softly, and Aziraphale had smiled, and said, “Crowley, there is something I should tell you, I think.”

“What’s that?” Crowley said. He didn’t even look nervous, just interested. So Aziraphale smiled.

“My name is Aziraphale,” he said. “Angel is...well, it’s just a nickname.”

“Oh. Oh, so that’s what they started calling you.”

Aziraphale nodded. Aziraphale studied him for signs of disappointment, betrayal. But Crowley leaned over and kissed him.

“Aziraphale,” he said. “my angel.”

The days after that had been like a dream. Crowley was open and free with him, never tried to pretend like what had happened had been a one time thing. Sometimes, even when Crowley did not spend the night, they ate breakfast together in the staff cafeteria. At their daily rehearsals, he’d continued to flirt, to offer little touches and sweet words. He took Aziraphale into the staff lounge to introduce him to Adam, the boy who had been born with a hole in his heart. He and his mother both looked at Crowley like he’d hung the stars, and Aziraphale could hardly believe he’d ever thought anything unsavory about the man.

And it did make it so much easier to avoid Gabriel and the rest, when he actually had something to do, somewhere to be, where they could not join him. And it softened it so much when he did find himself in their company. After a few days, he settled into a routine of joining them for dinner, mostly to keep the peace. And they did not speak of Crowley, though Aziraphale could see that Gabriel wanted to ask. They did not speak of Crowley, even when one morning, Aziraphale had followed Crowley out of his room only to see Gabriel across the hall, leaving his own room in a gray sweatsuit and clutching a water bottle as he headed out for a morning run. Gabriel’s eyes swept across the pair of them and narrowed, but he said nothing, not even a “good morning.”

Crowley had not come back to Aziraphale’s since then.

* * *

On the day of the performance, Aziraphale ate his breakfast quickly and slipped off to the dance studio. He’d put in an appearance at lunch, he thought, and then retire to his room to prepare for the show. He and Crowley stretched and made their way through the routine, then Crowley suggested that they head down to the auditorium to practice there.

Dagon, who had observed a few of their rehearsals, walked in with Adam about halfway through their runthrough. Adam watched their lifts with an open mouth and Aziraphale felt a thrill. Besides Dagon, they hadn’t had an audience yet, and Adam’s wonder inspired him. They left before they began their second runthrough, but Aziraphale already felt energized. Both lifts—even when he had to let Crowley lift him—went perfectly that day.

“Is that what an audience does for you?” Crowley said. “Should have had people watch us sooner.”

“I _am_ so looking forward to performing again,” Aziraphale said.

“What’s it been for you, thirty years?”

“Oh, no. Perhaps just two or three years since I did my last magic show.” He hadn’t done it since he’d switched departments, he realized. Before, he’d put up fliers to let his colleagues know when he was performing, but Gabriel had scoffed the last time he’d put one up. So he just...hadn’t, and then, gradually he hadn’t felt as excited to do it anymore.

“ _Magic_? What?” Crowley smirked. “Proper magic?”

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley stared at him for another few seconds. Aziraphale wished he had a coin or something to use to show him, but Crowley just said, “You really are full of surprises.”

“I’d love to show you.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d love that too.” He smiled and leaned close. “I had another kind of magic in mind for tonight, but I’m up for _anything_.”

Aziraphale ducked his head and blushed.

* * *

Gabriel and Sandalphon were in the dining hall when Aziraphale arrived for a late lunch.

“You missed Michael and Uriel!” Gabriel said as Aziraphale approached the table with his tray of food. He said this as if it had been a great failing, the single source of some great and unequivocal misery.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said in what he hoped was a sympathetic tone. He set his tray down and slid into his seat.

“Yeah! I think Uriel was hoping you’d come early so you could join us for yoga. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you at lunch, Angel.”

Sandalphon coughed and picked up a bun, which he began to butter slowly.

“I have been involved with some things here.”

Gabriel and Sandalphon exchanged a glance.

“Angel,” Gabriel began, “the whole idea of this retreat was that we’d all be _involved_ with the same things. I need us to operate as a team. A lean, mean, fighting machine.”

“Right, well, I have tried,” Aziraphale said. “I believe I have been present at all of the events you’ve organized for us. My understanding was that the rest is purely optional.”

“You’ve gone _soft_ ,” Gabriel said. “Come on. Sharpen up. Get with the program, sunshine.”

“Well, in any event, I won’t be able to join you for yoga today, I’m afraid.”

“Dinner, then. Come on, Angel. The rest of us have been planning for our overnight camping this weekend. You should come! Catch up! See what you’re missing at least.”

Aziraphale’s heart had sunk at the mention of camping.

“You did bring a sleeping bag, right?” Gabriel said.

Sandalphon snickered.

“I—”

“We’ll see you at dinner. Seven p.m.,” Gabriel said. He stood, drained the last of his iced tea (a concoction he appeared to have brewed and poured himself), and looked over at Sandalphon, who gave Aziraphale a final appraising glance before standing and following Gabriel, the two of them leaving Aziraphale alone at the table.

_Fuck_ , he thought.

* * *

At four, Aziraphale met Crowley in the hall behind the auditorium for the show. The audience was made up of donors and sponsors for St. Beryl’s, and when Aziraphale heard the roar of applause as they were announced, he felt a happy thrill. He’d forgotten the fun of these jitters, the make-it-or-break-it atmosphere of a coming performance. Crowley walked onstage first, and then Aziraphale joined.

There was a short silence. They’d clearly been expecting a man and woman, but when the music began, the awkwardness fell away, and he moved into Crowley’s arms. They’d practiced the steps over and over; he knew them all. He knew when to lift Crowley and let him bend back over his clasped arms. He knew when Crowley’s hands would come to his waist as he braced against his shoulders and flew, and he knew how to dip Crowley, how to hold him as he returned to standing, how to lean on him and brace himself when it was his turn to be dipped. The only thing unfamiliar was the roar of applause, the sheer joy in Crowley’s eyes as they turned away from each other to take their bows.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale beamed at him and took his hand for the bows.

* * *

They bowed together again to another wave of applause, and then walked from the stage. In the hall behind the auditorium, Crowley kissed him, winding his body around Aziraphale’s and pressing close.

“We can change and I’ll meet you back at 5 for dinner at the Four Horsemen?” His eyes were so open and eager. It was hard to do this, but...Aziraphale drew back.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “I actually...well, I’ve got to have dinner with my team, unfortunately. Gabriel really was very insistent.”

Crowley’s face closed off in his disappointment.

“Wh—angel, if they’re—I mean, look, I never meant to get you in trouble.”

“Oh, my dear, it’s been no trouble at all. I’ve had such a wonderful time, and it’s been so lovely to be able to help. And my dear, tonight _after_ this dinner, if you like, we could have drinks together in my room? Or perhaps at your cabin? I promise, after dinner, I—”

Crowley blinked, looking vaguely stunned. “Wh—you said—I mean, I thought—”

Aziraphale had been to Crowley’s cabin only once, for just a few minutes one evening when they’d walked the grounds together and he’d needed to stop for a jacket before they got to the trail. Crowley hadn’t looked at him the whole time they’d been inside. Perhaps mentioning it had been a misstep. Perhaps Crowley didn’t want him there; perhaps he was self-conscious about the small space, the sparse furnishings, the excessive houseplants.

“Shall I come to the staff room for you after?” Aziraphale said, desperate to save the moment. “Or you could meet me in the hall? Or even just come upstairs to my room? It will be late enough I think, that no one would notice.”

Crowley frowned. He seemed to be scrutinizing Aziraphale, looking for something.

“No,” Crowley said softly. “No, just...I don’t think so.” He pressed his eyes closed. “Look, thanks for your help with the show.”

He turned away then, and it took Aziraphale a moment to understand what was happening. During that moment, Crowley opened the door onto the grounds and stepped through.

“Crowley,” he called, “wait, my dear! I thought we might—”

“Aziraphale, don’t,” Crowley said, practically spitting out Aziraphale’s name as if it were a curse. It froze Aziraphale in place as the door banged shut behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes to dinner with his coworkers as he tries to figure out what went wrong after the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to EveningStarcatcher for the beta read! You are making this story so much better!

Aziraphale tried to follow him, but when he looked outside, Crowley was nowhere to be seen. He tried going left, walking around back to where the cabins were, but he still saw nothing, no one. He walked around the building and went up to his room. He tried calling and sending a text message to Crowley, and there was still no response, so he took off his costume—really just a pair of black trousers and a white button-down shirt with a black bowtie—and hung it up, then went into the bathroom for a quick shower.

He felt a sick, swooping sensation in his stomach. He didn’t want to join Gabriel for dinner. He wanted to find Crowley. But Crowley, it seemed, didn’t want to be found. And Aziraphale didn’t understand why. Of course, they’d had plans, but he hadn’t _canceled_ them, had only put them off for an hour or two, and only because of work. Crowley had always seemed to understand that Aziraphale was here at St. Beryl’s primarily as part of his job, so what was the problem? There was still another week of this retreat, and he didn’t want to spend it avoiding both Crowley _and_ his colleagues. The idea filled him with a terrible emptiness that he didn’t want to examine too closely. It tugged at him, pulling at his thoughts even when he tried to direct them elsewhere. When he’d toweled off, he picked up his phone again even before he dressed.

**Aziraphale:** _Please, can we talk, my dear? I’m so very sorry I hurt you._

To Aziraphale’s great relief, three dots inside a bubble appeared immediately, making his insides thrum with hope. Crowley was typing. Perhaps it would all be all right. But the bubble disappeared. Feeling only despondency and a desperate need for comfort, he tugged on a soft pair of brown corduroy trousers, and a flannel button-down shirt and a worn grey cardigan with patched elbows. He picked up his phone, hopefully, but still, no reply had come, and the bubble that indicated that Crowley was typing was still gone.

* * *

Aziraphale arrived on time for dinner. He ordered lobster ravioli in a lemon butter sauce with dill. He was quite hungry and needed carbs to attempt to stave off his grief. He ignored the looks Gabriel and Uriel exchanged when he ordered.

“Does dill even come with it?” Michael asked.

“It didn’t say,” Aziraphale explained. “But I wanted dill, so I made sure to request it.”

“Just imagine, Aziraphale,” said Sandalphon, “if you brought some of that attention to detail to company life.”

“Oh, I assure you—”

“He’s not talking about nitpicking the programs,” Uriel said.

“We’ve hardly seen you at all this last week,” Michael said.

“Yeah, what’s that about?” Gabriel said. “That dancer…”

Uriel smirked. Sandalphon licked his lips. Michael looked down and away, as if she’d seen something shameful. Aziraphale felt hot, sick.

Michael tutted.

“Let’s not _pry_ ,” she said.

Uriel coughed.

“Well, anyway!” Gabriel said. “We’re going camping tomorrow morning! Bright and early! You get up early, I’ve seen you. We’re meeting down in the Welcome Center, the front hall! Bring your sleeping bags and tents—Mary Hodges says that she can provide anything you don’t have—and we’ll head to the campgrounds!”

Aziraphale grimaced. He meant it as a smile, but could tell that it hadn’t worked.

“And what have you all been up to?” he asked.

“Teambuilding,” Gabriel said, pointedly.

“We might ask you the same question,” Michael added.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, if you must know—”

“We really don’t need to,” Gabriel said, with an expression on his face as if he smelled something rancid, like moldy pea soup.

The drinks came then, and Sandalphon took out his phone and started showing something on it to Gabriel. Aziraphale gave a sigh of relief and attempted, unsuccessfully, to drown his sorrows in a single serving of whiskey.

* * *

Even once he’d eaten his lovely dinner, so full of soothing fats and carbs, he remained miserable and on high alert. It did not help matters at all that Gabriel kept glancing back and forth between the creamy sauce of Aziraphale’s pasta and Aziraphale’s waistline.

When his phone chimed, even if he had not hoped it was Crowley, he would have been excited for the escape. But it _was_ Crowley. His heart pounded.

**Crowley:** _can we talk_

**Aziraphale:** _Of course, my dear._

 **Crowley:** _where are you? wherever you are I’ll come to you_

 **Aziraphale:** _No, I rather think I’d like to get away from where I am._

A bubble with three dots popped up, then disappeared. Then popped up and disappeared again.

“What are you doing now?” Sandalphon asked. Every head at the table was turned in Aziraphale’s direction. He sighed.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but I really must take this.”

Gabriel sighed. Michael lay down her silverware as if preparing for something. Aziraphale did not wait to see what. He stood up and made his way out of the dining hall.

With his back pressed to the wall, Aziraphale took out his mobile again and watched as the three dots popped up again, then disappeared. He looked back at what he’d sent and felt a chill. Oh, no, what if Crowley had misunderstood?

**Aziraphale:** _I didn’t mean the retreat center!_

**Aziraphale:** _Or that I didn’t want you to come!_

This time, Crowley’s reply came quickly.

 **Crowley:** _no just_

**Crowley:** _would you want to come here_

**Crowley:** _maybe_

 **Crowley:** _I don’t know if you remember where it is_

 **Aziraphale:** _Of course I do. I'll be right there._

Aziraphale was already on his way.

* * *

Aziraphale made his way down the pebbled path to the cabins in the twilight, ignoring the suspicious glances of other staff he met on the way.

One called out, “Sir, this area isn’t really open to the public—”

“I’m a guest of a staffer,” he said, smiling through his impatience, even though he wasn’t sure how visible it was in the low light. Luckily, the woman just nodded and continued on her way.

Crowley’s was the sixth cabin in the first of three rows of six private staff cabins, not including the larger structures that were there to house multiple staffers. As Aziraphale drew closer, he could see that Crowley had put on his porch light. He hardly had a chance to knock before the door popped open and Crowley stood there, surveying him. He looked haunted, tired.

“Angel,” he said. His voice matched his expression.

“Is everything all right?” Aziraphale said. “Adam’s surgery—”

“Went well. He’s recovering tonight, but nothing unexpected,” Crowley said. He looked almost relieved to have the chance to offer the information, to have something to say.

“I’m so glad to hear it.”

There was another silence.

“Crowley—”

“Aziraphale—” Crowley began at the same time.

“You first, dear.”

“No, no. Just…” Crowley shrugged.

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t understand what happened,” Aziraphale tried. “I know we’d planned to celebrate, and I really am terribly sorry about Gabriel. Perhaps...we might try another time.” He thought of the camping trip tomorrow morning and felt all of his hope ebbing away.

Crowley frowned. “Lunch tomorrow?”

The camping trip, Aziraphale thought.

“Crowley…”

“Yeah, right,” Crowley said. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Just...I thought it was different, with us. But that’s me, right? Stupid.”

“No, no of course not. Crowley—”

“Just a way to pass the time, yeah? Nice legs, sexy hips. Wanted to get your hands in my hair—”

“What?”

“I’ve heard it all.” Crowley was so still. Too still. “Why not, right? I mean it's obvious I was willing.”

“Crowley?”

“I liked you,” he said. “I really...I mean…”

“ _Liked?_ Past tense?” Aziraphale could not keep the wince out of his voice.

Crowley looked up at him. “No,” he whispered, pressing his eyes closed. “But you don’t...don’t want me like that, do you?”

“Crowley—I don’t understand.”

Crowley grimaced and crossed his arms tight over his chest. Holding his jaw rigid, he croaked out, “You don’t want me like I want you. During the day. In public. Not just at night. In bed. With no one looking.”

“Oh, Crowley. Is that what this is all about? Oh, darling, no, no.”

Crowley still didn’t look up. Aziraphale stepped closer to him, carefully. Crowley’s stillness was unnerving. He didn’t think Crowley would hurt him, but he didn’t want to spook him, all the same. He stopped just in front of him and rested his hands on Crowley’s arms.

“Darling,” he said.

“Please, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. And then he looked up, his eyes wide and glistening. Aziraphale pressed his fingers to the corners of them, and Crowley, shaking, leaned in. Aziraphale did too, letting Crowley’s arms snake around him, pull him in tight until their lips met. They kissed, first hard and frantic and then slower, softer, until Aziraphale pulled back to look at him.

“There, now,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, this... _you_ mean a great deal to me. And you’re wrong, you know? I _do_ want you. In _every_ way. All the time. And I don’t care who’s looking. Do you understand?”

“Fuck, angel...I…”

“I’m very sorry if you’ve been treated poorly before. By other people you might have met here. I understand there might be a certain dynamic at play. If you don’t want us to go to bed together again until we’ve been on a proper date, or...or if not even then, I completely understand.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open and worked noiselessly. FInally, he emitted a few garbled sounds, and Aziraphale smiled.

“But I get the feeling that isn’t what you want, either.”

Crowley shook his head.

“Can you stay?” he asked.

Aziraphale thought of the camping trip leaving in the morning, the glances his coworkers had exchanged as he’d stood up from the table. He thought of the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Crowley had turned away from him, the light in his eyes when they’d finished their dance. It was the wrong question, he realized. The real question was, could he leave? That one was very easy to answer: _No._ So he made a decision, and he answered the question Crowley had put to him.

“Yes, of course, my dear,” he said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley spend a day and two nights together while Aziraphale tries not to think about his feelings. But there are consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw in end notes!

It was late before they went to bed, and even later before they finally slept. Aziraphale, who generally slept badly, woke at his usual time. He did not wake Crowley, but instead lay against him, feeling his breath as his bare flesh pressed warm and soft against Aziraphale’s. He was supposed to go camping with his coworkers for two days. Two days of the precious few he still had left with Crowley. He didn’t know if he could bear it. He realized, as he looked at Crowley, that he could not.

The night before, he’d come dangerously close to saying something reckless. And now, he was about to _do_ something reckless. But he didn’t care. At 5 a.m., he should have risen and made his way back to his room to pack and prepare, but he did not move. At 6, he should have been traipsing through the front hall of the retreat center with his coworkers, clutching a borrowed sleeping bag and tent. Instead, he eased himself out of the bedsheets and pulled on his pants and undershirt, and made his way into Crowley’s kitchen to see what he could make to surprise Crowley with breakfast.

They needed to talk. He knew it was practically madness, but when he thought of getting back into the Land Rover with Gabriel and the others, when he thought of returning to his lonely flat above the bookshop he’d always envied, of slogging through day after day of work and day after day of _not_ _Crowley_ , he didn’t think he could stand it _._ Unless Crowley needed him to. Unless Crowley didn’t want his life to change, to be upended by Aziraphale and his ridiculous, grasping need.

But after last night, it was difficult not to get his hopes up, not to let himself believe that Crowley was just as consumed by it as he was. He didn’t dare name it, not even to himself. But he knew what he wasn’t saying.

His phone chimed then, and he picked it up in a hurry to keep it from waking Crowley.

 **Gabriel:** _Angel, we’re waiting._

 **Aziraphale:** _Oh, don’t. I’m afraid I’m not feeling well at all. Must have been the dill._

 **Gabriel:** _You’ll get over it. Come on._

 **Aziraphale:** _Oh, but I really am in a state. I would hate for my gastrointestinal difficulties to spoil the whole excursion._

 **Gabriel:** _TMI._

 **Gabriel:** _Fine. But be ready to debrief when we get back._

Aziraphale sighed.

 _Roger that,_ he typed, sarcastically. Gabriel hit the thumbs up on his response, indicating that he had missed the sarcasm. Aziraphale sighed again.

He found some smoked fish, eggs, flour, and fruit and set about making scones and platters. He’d just put the kettle on when Crowley emerged from the bedroom, bleary-eyed and scowling the way he always was in the mornings, and Aziraphale’s heart swelled up too big at the sight of him wrapped in Aziraphale’s soft cardigan. For a moment, he could not breathe.

“What?” Crowley snapped.

“Oh, nothing,” Aziraphale murmured. He poured tea and set the lilac teapot he’d found in a cabinet on the table.

Crowley let out a snort.

“Where did you find that thing?”

“It’s not yours?”

“Do I _look_ like I’ve got a bloody pink teapot?”

Aziraphale walked around the table and sat on it, facing Crowley.

“What are you on about, angel?”

He leaned forward and tugged at the lapels of the sweater, then pressed his lips to Crowley’s.

“Tea can wait, I think? Yes?” he whispered, breaking away for air.

“Yeah, right,” Crowley said, clawing at his back.

* * *

It was dusk before Aziraphale said anything _difficult_. He and Crowley were walking back to his cabin from the staff kitchen, where they’d eaten together. Aziraphale clutched a little overnight bag so he wouldn’t have to be in the same clothes for a third day. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and felt Crowley move closer, leaning against him as they walked.

“Crowley,” he began.

Crowley made a noise like something pleading. He didn’t look at Aziraphale. So Aziraphale trained his eyes on the trees and thought of his colleagues.

“It’s just a few days left now,” he said. “The others are off camping tonight, you know? So, at least we should be relatively undisturbed for the time being. But I think—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “Let’s just...not. Not tonight, OK? Can’t we just…be?”

It felt like he’d had his heart pierced. That was the moment he knew it, could no longer deny it, however foolish he’d felt for it earlier when he’d tried. He loved Crowley. He would do anything for him.

“If that is your preference,” he said.

“My preference?” Crowley said. “My _preference_ would be you and me somewhere where you’d never have to worry about _them_ and we could just be like this all the time.”

“Oh, but—” Aziraphale shook his head, waking himself up. So then—Crowley _did_ feel the same madness. His hopes rose again.

“ ’s all right,” Crowley said. “I know it’s not what you want. Just. Needed to say it, just once.”

“Say...what exactly, my dear?” Aziraphale coaxed.

“Never mind,” Crowley said. He smiled, then, more a wry twitching of his lips than anything truly mirthful.

 _I should tell him_ , Aziraphale thought. Crowley’s fingers dug into his waist, slipped a little lower and gave him a little squeeze. Aziraphale’s mouth fell open.

Crowley laughed.

It seemed the time for conversation had passed.

* * *

On their second morning together, they put on the kettle and after a cup of tea each, walked down to the center together. Crowley had lessons all day, starting that morning, and Aziraphale thought it might be a good idea to meet the team for breakfast when they got back, so he wouldn’t sit around all day worrying about encountering them. As it was, he tugged self-consciously at the black sweatshirt he was wearing, one of Crowley’s, some sort of high-tech, moisture-wicking thing that must have been horribly oversized on Crowley, but fit Aziraphale really quite well, even if it wasn’t his usual style. He was sure it would not escape the notice of his coworkers.

As they approached the building, Aziraphale noticed that Gabriel’s Land Rover was already in the parking spot. He pressed his eyes closed. Beside him, Crowley squeezed his hand.

“It’s all right, angel,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled at him, but he doubted it. Crowley tilted his head to one side, considering him.

“Look,” he said. “Why don’t I give you some space today? Let you...make nice or whatever? See you in the morning?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Yes, I—” His heart plummeted. He felt almost completely despondent. Tomorrow. There would only be four days left after today. Four days of Crowley, with one completely wasted.

He nodded. “I think that would be best.”

Crowley let go of his hand as they opened the front door.

And then, even though Aziraphale hadn’t decided to ask him to change his life, it happened anyway.

“There he is!” Gabriel shouted. Beside him stood Ms. Hodges, Sandalphon, Uriel, and Michael. They had obviously already showered and put away their camping gear. “He knew which room was mine. And he could be on the floor without raising too much suspicion.” He shot a glance at Aziraphale.

“Oh?” Ms. Hodges said. “I fail to understand why one of my dance instructors, rather than a member of the cleaning staff—”

“Why I what?” Crowley said, but no one replied to him. In fact, they looked away from him as if he’d said something awful. Ms. Hodges blinked, then tried again.

“Why would my dance teacher be in the guest quarters?”

“Oh, come on,” Uriel said, waving a hand between Aziraphale and Crowley. “They’re _sleeping_ together. None of us can get Angel here to spend a minute apart from his boyfriend in the dark glasses. It’s no secret he’s always up there.”

“Stomach bug, huh?” Sandalphon said.

Michael snorted.

“What exactly is going on here?” Aziraphale asked. Michael smirked.

“It looks like your boyfriend might have something to tell you,” she said.

“I _what_?” Crowley demanded. “What exactly am I being accused of?”

“No one’s accusing you of anything,” Michael said. “Why would you assume we’re _accusing_ you?”

“What is going on?” Aziraphale repeated.

“I’m missing my noise-cancelling headphones,” Gabriel said. “And Uriel mentioned she’d lost her iPad. The only thing I’ve seen out of place is _this_ snake.”

Crowley sneered. Aziraphale placed a steadying hand on his arm.

“Crowley hasn’t stolen anything,” he said.

“How would you know?” Gabriel said. “You’ve been recovering from overeating.”

“Gabriel, I hardly think I should need to convalesce for two days—”

“Well after the size of that meal…” Uriel said, smirking.

“Fuck right off,” Crowley snarled. Sandalphon stepped toward him. They glared at each other.

“You did make it sound pretty serious,” Gabriel said. “And anyway, are you going to tell me that you _weren’t_ sick? And you just _skipped team-building_ to…” he flicked a hand at Crowley, who started toward him. Ms. Hodges’s mouth fell open. Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley’s arm, and he stopped.

“Gabriel, don’t be disgusting,” Michael said.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said.

“Anyway, he can’t possibly have been with this man the whole time. Aziraphale—there wasn’t a moment when he could have left you alone in your room?”

Aziraphale hesitated.

Ms. Hodges was looking down, taking large steadying breaths.

“This isn’t how I’d like to handle this,” she said, finally. “Look, if my staff—”

“Let him answer,” Sandalphon said, stepping in closer to Crowley.

“I was with Crowley from the time I left dinner until now,” Aziraphale said. He hesitated, then went on. “We were not in my room, but in his cabin. The only time we went to my room was yesterday, and he was by my side the entire time. So, you see. Your missing items...he can’t have taken them.”

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley and found that he had gone very still.

Ms. Hodges was studying Crowley.

“Is this true?” she said, finally.

Crowley nodded.

“Just so we’re clear—” Gabriel started.

“No, I didn’t take your whatever. I don’t _steal_.”

“There you are, then,” said Ms. Hodges. “Excuse us. Mr. Crowley? Come with me.”

Aziraphale tried to follow, but Crowley shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, angel. I’m sorry.” He wouldn't look at him.

Aziraphale turned to his coworkers, all of whom were staring at him as if they’d never seen him before. For a moment, it occurred to him that perhaps they thought _he’d_ taken their things. But that was ridiculous, surely.

“I—”

“You need to get your priorities straight,” Gabriel said. “You know, I never would have expected this from you. When we get back, you put one toe out of line, and you’re _done_.”

“Angels _can_ fall,” Sandalphon said.

“We’re having breakfast,” Gabriel said. He raised a hand and waved Aziraphale toward the dining hall.

“Unless you need to...shower and change,” Michael said, her nose wrinkling slightly.

“Oh, ho! Now who’s being disgusting?” Sandalphon chortled.

“Well, he’s obviously not in his own clothes,” Uriel muttered.

“I should—” Aziraphale began, thinking longingly of solitude, of checking on Crowley, of anything at all beyond _this_.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Aziraphale sighed and led the way into the dining hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: implied sexual activity; false accusations; derogatory comments about Aziraphale's eating habits; references to (nonexistent) gastrointestinal distress; sexual shaming.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter, in which some revelations take place and some decisions are made...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: low self-esteem; sex-shaming; mentions of unemployment.

Aziraphale did not hear from Crowley for the rest of the day. After yoga, he tried calling, but there was still no reply. After dinner, Aziraphale went upstairs and undressed slowly. He checked his phone as he got into bed and saw a message from Crowley that had been sent in the last fifteen minutes.

 **Crowley:** I’m sorry, Aziraphale. So fucking sorry. Ruined everything

 **Aziraphale:** Crowley, dearest, no. It broke my heart hearing them speak to you that way. Are you all right?

 **Crowley:** don’t worry about me. look where it gets you

 **Aziraphale:** Can we talk? Can I see you?

 **Crowley:** can you just say it here? I better not try to come to you now

 **Aziraphale:** Darling, are you in trouble for coming here? Even though you didn’t do anything wrong?

 **Crowley:** doesn’t matter

 **Aziraphale:** Of course it matters, Crowley! You can’t let people treat you as if you’re nothing!

 **Crowley:** why not?

Aziraphale frowned.

 **Crowley:** I AM nothing Aziraphale

 **Crowley:** they’re just treating me like what i am

Aziraphale gasped and pressed his hands to his lips.

 **Aziraphale:** Oh, no, no, darling. Crowley, please, tell me you don’t mean that.

 **Crowley:** are you ok are you losing your job? did you lie to them to stay with me?

 **Crowley:** why the fuck would you do that

 **Crowley:** I never would have asked you to if i knew

 **Crowley:** not worth it. not for a hookup, I know. I’m sorry

 **Aziraphale:** A hookup? Crowley, I don’t do that. I thought I’d been quite clear on that.

 **Crowley:** then what angel. What is it then?

Aziraphale’s heart raced. There were tears in his eyes. He stood up. This was ridiculous. He opened a drawer and pulled on a pair of trousers over his pajamas. He pulled on Crowley’s sweatshirt over his pajama top.

He yanked the door to his room shut and scurried down the stairs. It was still early; people were still in the dining hall, finishing up meals, having drinks, dancing.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sandalphon said, emerging from the dining hall with Gabriel, as ever.

Aziraphale ignored him.

“If you think you’re going to the staff quarters, you should know: he’s not here any longer,” Uriel called. Aziraphale turned.

“What?”

“Your boyfriend in the dark glasses,” Uriel replied, coldly. “Miss Hodges let him go. She told us. Said she felt we should know.”

“But he didn’t—”

“What he _did_ do was bad enough, I’d think,” Gabriel said. “Flaunting himself in front of the paying guests. Going up to your room like he had a right to be in rooms that people pay for. She’s not paying them to sleep with us, you know.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies,” Sandalphon said.

Gabriel laughed. “I guess he got other ideas,” he said, catching Michael’s eye.

Aziraphale felt sick. The air around them seemed to shimmer and blur.

“Excuse me,” he said. He’d gotten to the door when Gabriel called after him.

“Priorities, Angel!”

Aziraphale paused, and slowly turned to face Gabriel. He forced his shoulders to relax, his face to be still.

“My _name_ is _Aziraphale_ ,” he said, his voice calm but firm. He watched them, the twitch of their faces, the subtle shifts of their eyes, as if they were attempting not to look too interested in him, even now when they were interrogating him, judging him. Even when he must have surprised them all.

 _I love Crowley_ , he thought. _I love him_. A smile came over his face as it filled him up from inside, something light and glowing, something they could never take away from him. It meant nothing to him to watch now as Michael drew herself up, stern, as Uriel blinked as if in shock. He watched with equanimity as Sandalphon looked to Gabriel, as ever, and Gabriel...Gabriel’s eyes had narrowed, his mouth drawing in. For just a moment, Aziraphale felt that he could see everything inside of the man, everything he carried and tried to hide behind so much bluster.

But Crowley…it wouldn’t do to forget what mattered most in this moment, what burned hardest, brightest inside him: He loved Crowley. Aziraphale had always loved things, people, but he loved Crowley as he had loved nothing and no one for years, possibly ever. Now he had to find him and tell him, had to let Crowley decide what to do with it. Aziraphale would do whatever he asked, whatever he wanted.

He could not have cared less, in that moment, what Gabriel demanded.

* * *

He went first to the staff parking area, and saw Crowley’s car there. Perhaps Uriel had been mistaken. He turned and hurried toward the staff cabins, halfway there, looping back behind a thicket. Perhaps his indiscretion in visiting Crowley there had been the real issue. If Uriel was wrong and Crowley had only been warned, he didn’t wish to repeat it.

He was partway to the cabin when he saw Crowley making his way toward the parking, holding a box and carrying a duffel bag and a rucksack. Aziraphale stopped, closing his eyes. Oh, no. Uriel hadn’t been wrong at all. He doubled back, arriving just before Crowley did. He didn’t seem to see Aziraphale at all, and it occurred to Aziraphale that he ought to have offered to help Crowley as he watched him struggling under the weight of his bags. He stepped out in front of the car and headed for him.

“Crowley, may I help you? I feel awful about this, my dear. I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale held out his arms to take the box. But Crowley stopped and stared at him, letting the box drop to the ground. Before Aziraphale could step forward and pick it up, Crowley threw himself forward, falling against Aziraphale and clutching him to his chest, the two of them leaning awkwardly over the box, the heavy bag knocking into Aziraphale.

“What the fuck are you doing here, you great _pillock_ of an angel?”

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale said, he pulled back to look at Crowley and avoid the pressure on the backs of his legs from bending over the box. “Darling, I...you _must_ know I...well, you’ll think me an absolute fool, but I couldn’t let you just—”

“Aziraphale, look—” Crowley shifted the bag on his shoulder and there was that look again, the frantic, fearful thing that Aziraphale was beginning to understand meant that something was happening that he didn’t believe he deserved.

Aziraphale had to make that look go away.

“I love you,” he said. And Crowley blinked at him. Suddenly Aziraphale felt nervous. There was a reason, after all, that he had avoided acknowledging this, had avoided saying it. Suppose he’d miscalculated and this only made Crowley feel worse? “There. Isn’t that silly of me? Two weeks and a little...dancing, and now I’ve cost you your job and—Crowley?”

Crowley was crying silently, his lips pinched, his body still, as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“This is so stupid,” he said. “It’s just...it’s like…”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. Crowley frowned. “I won’t be a bother. Well, not any _more_ of one. I’ll just...help you get your things to the car, shall I?”

He turned, and Crowley let out a noise like a squeak and said, “No, no, angel.” When Aziraphale turned, he was smiling, looking dazed, _happy_.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where?”

“Does it really matter?” Crowley said.

“No, I—I suppose it doesn’t.”

Crowley grinned. He unlocked his car and they piled in the bags, the single box, and Aziraphale got in. His heart pounded.

“Should I bring some things?”

Crowley shook his head.

* * *

They went to the Four Horsemen. Aziraphale sat and sipped a whiskey (and ate an appetizer) while Crowley ate a bowl of chicken soup, and then they did go upstairs to a room that was surprisingly well-kept and homey.

“Can’t believe you came,” Crowley whispered, as they lay together in the dark.

“Why not?” Aziraphale said. “It isn’t as if I had much of a choice to make between you and my odious coworkers.”

Crowley shifted in the bed, looking up toward the ceiling rather than at Aziraphale. Aziraphale took his hand.

“You were wrong,” he said quietly. “You are worth so much. You should never let anyone, least of all someone like Gabriel, make you believe otherwise.”

“You don’t understand,” Crowley said, and it was obvious that he was struggling not to cry again.

“Then help me to,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shrugged. “I’m...you know. This is it. This is me. Washed up dancer. Unemployed now. You’re not the first...guest I’ve—”

“I know,” Aziraphale said gently. “Why should I be? I’m sure you meet lots of people, and equally sure that many of them would be drawn to you.”

“It was just one,” Crowley said.

 _Oh._ That had not been at all the impression Aziraphale had gotten. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he did not, just squeezed Crowley’s hand gently and felt him squeeze back before he continued.

“Told me about all he wanted us to do together. Places he wanted us to go. Things he wanted to give me. I thought...really thought he meant it, you know?”

Aziraphale waited, sensing he should not interrupt.

“I didn’t...didn’t care about the _stuff_ , you know. That wasn’t...wasn’t...but then, when his retreat ended—his was almost a month and I saw him every day, and—and he just left. Didn’t even say goodbye to me. Saw him leaving. With his...with his _wife and children_. Know that’s who they were. Found him on facebook after he was gone and yeah. The things he said when I confronted him...stuck with me, that. All of it.”

 _Oh_ , and Aziraphale had thought—had feared much the same thing for himself at the start of this.

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” he said. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry.”

“So...you see what I mean. I’m not—you can’t give up a life like that for me.”

“A life like what, Crowley?”

“A real life. Career and all that.”

“Oh, blast a career,” Aziraphale said. “It’s about _all_ I’ve got. And do you know, it’s not nearly enough for me.”

“Greedy,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled to hear him tease.

“You know, I daresay I am.”

“Good,” Crowley said. He leaned over and kissed Aziraphale on the lips. “I like greedy. Might even say...I love it.”

“Oh, Crowley.”

“Love you,” Crowley said. His voice was quiet, hesitant, as if he expected to be slapped away.

“I love you too, darling,” Aziraphale said, instead. “I believe I did already—” but Crowley’s mouth on his was sudden, the kiss so firm as to be almost rough. Aziraphale moaned in surprise, wrapping his arms around Crowley tighter. They kissed until the urgency subsided, until they moved slower, and Aziraphale’s mind began to work again.

“Aziraphale…are you sure this is what you want? _This_ is enough? Me?”

“Oh, my love, this is everything.”

“Then…I might have an idea. Let’s teach Gabriel and Ms. Hodges and everyone else a lesson.”

“Oh, Crowley, I don’t know—”

“Trust me. You’ll like it.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley enact Crowley's plan, goodbyes are said, an iconic reference occurs. And there is an epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [EveningStarcatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningStarcatcher/pseuds/EveningStarcatcher)!
> 
> cw: nothing new! This chapter is largely pretty joyful (💕Happy Valentine's Day💕!), but Gabriel and the others ARE still in it.

The next morning, just before lunchtime, Aziraphale clung to the seatbelt inside the Bentley as Crowley swung the car into the staff parking at St. Beryl’s.

“I’ll just wait here,” Crowley muttered.

“Why not come with me?” Aziraphale said. “After all, you don’t work here. They can’t ban you from the guest quarters if you’re with me.”

Crowley sighed, but he got out, and he and Aziraphale went into one of the side entrances, Crowley hardly looked up from his mobile as he moved, furiously texting Dagon.

In his room, Aziraphale gathered his things and sat down at the desk while Crowley fidgeted and tapped away at his mobile.

“All right,” he said, finally putting it away. “ ’S almost 12:30. You think they’re down there?”

“It’ll be their last meal here,” Aziraphale said. “Gabriel’s not one to pass up the opportunity for superfluous celebration.”

To confirm, he drew out his own mobile and saw a message from Gabriel.

 **Gabriel:** _Are you going to come back to London with us? We are having lunch then leaving at 2 pm, whether you’re here or not._

Aziraphale sighed and slid the mobile into his back pocket.

“I’m definitely ready,” he said.

* * *

Aziraphale peered inside the dining hall as Dagon and her dance partner, a tall man he recognized as the yoga teacher, wrapped up their salsa.

Everyone applauded. Dagon stepped forward and went to the microphone. Mary Hodges raised her eyebrows, but took a couple of steps back to let her pick it up. Ms. Hodges would have no idea what they were planning.

“And now, a bit of a surprise,” Dagon said. “I...think this one speaks for itself.”

The music began, the same swelling tango they had danced to before.

“Ready?” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale gulped.

“Come on, angel. You’ve got this.”

Crowley stepped into the room, and Aziraphale followed. They danced down the aisle, and Aziraphale was aware of his coworkers’ eyes on him: Michael’s pinched lips, Uriel’s sneer, Sandalphon’s open-mouthed stare, and Gabriel’s narrowed eyes and reddening face.

When Aziraphale lifted Crowley and slid him down his body before setting him down, there was the loud sound of a chair scraping along the floor as Michael actually stood up and stormed from the room. Gabriel, Aziraphale was delighted to see, seemed determined to watch the whole performance. Aziraphale let his eyes flicker to Ms. Hodges, who, like Sandalphon, was watching open-mouthed, and when he looked back at Crowley, he saw the pleased smirk on his face.

Gabriel gasped when Crowley’s hand found Aziraphale’s thigh and dipped him back, then slid down his spine as he returned him to standing. Aziraphale felt a rush of joy at the sound.

Then, before he knew it, he heard the crescendo that meant it was time for him to be lifted. He felt a grin creep across his face, a bright, happy thing, almost— _almost_ —free from the pettiness they were indulging in right now.

He put his hands on Crowley’s shoulder, felt those strong hands encircling his waist. He caught Gabriel’s eye as he launched himself into the air, extending one leg out behind him in flight.

Crowley whirled him to the ground and they bowed.

“Should we...make a break for it?” Aziraphale asked through his performance smile.

“Nah,” Crowley said, through his teeth. “Let them stew.”

Ms. Hodges approached Crowley as they headed out into the hallway. Aziraphale sighed and stepped away a little, giving them a chance to talk. Crowley needed a job. Just because Aziraphale had all but given up on his didn’t mean he got to decide that for Crowley.

Behind him, he heard a cough.

He turned. Uriel was standing there, giving him an appraising look, sweeping over him from head to foot.

Behind her, he could see Gabriel emerging from the dining hall, trailed by Sandalphon. Across the welcome center, near the door, he saw Michael stand up from the couch where she’d been seated.

“What the Hell was that, sunshine?” Gabriel hissed.

“A tango,” Aziraphale said. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

“You are _done_ ,” Gabriel said. “I doubt St. Beryl’s will ever have this company back again. If I can’t offload you back to web developing, I’m putting you on bug fixes and customer service. You can work in the basement corner office since this—” he waved a hand back and forth between himself and Aziraphale “—is obviously not a fit.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear St. Beryl’s will be spared,” Aziraphale said. “I think you’ll be delighted to hear that I no longer require employment with you or Ethereal Electronics. Consider this my notice. Oh, and Gabriel? I wanted to remind you that per my contract, which was drawn up when I joined the web developers team, I own my own code. As I am no longer an employee of Ethereal Electronics, you no longer have a right to anything I have created.”

Crowley sidled up, grinning. He snaked an arm around Aziraphale.

“Nobody puts my angel in a corner,” he said. “Told Mary Hodges to forget about it too. I’m not coming back here.”

“I do hope you have a safe trip back to London,” Aziraphale said to Gabriel, and turned away to press his lips to Crowley’s. The kiss lingered and deepened, as kisses between them usually did. Aziraphale’s chest swelled with love, with the freedom to feel it. He tugged Crowley closer. Across the room, he heard Michael gasp. Footsteps, the slamming of a door.

When he and Crowley finally broke apart, breathing hard and smiling, Aziraphale’s old team had gone.

* * *

_One year later_

“That’s right, Adam,” Crowley said. He caught the boy’s foot, and, when Adam nodded, lifted it another inch, rotating the leg outward slightly. “You want to turn out from the hip,” he added.

“I thought that was just for ballet,” Adam whined, but he held his leg in position a few extra seconds even after Crowley let go.

“Yeah, well, last I looked you were in the ballet class, too, and jazz, so it’s a good habit,” Crowley said. “It gives you more range with your extension. Watch.”

Crowley tapped a few buttons on his phone and music started. He waited.

Sure enough, Aziraphale turned from where he and Dagon were coaching Pepper and Sarah through their first lift. Crowley waved him over, and he said something to the girls, then started across to him.

“Watch,” Crowley announced to the room, and winked at Aziraphale, confirming what they were about to do.

On cue, Aziraphale turned, looking over one shoulder as he lifted it, then the other, and Crowley approached him, moving sinuously with the music. Just as it seemed they would collide, Crowley slid in beneath Aziraphale, lifting him as Aziraphale braced one hand on Crowley’s shoulder, lifting one leg straight out in front of him.

“See that turnout,” Crowley shouted. Heads nodded around the room. “Can’t get that kind of control with bad turnout.” Aziraphale switched his hands and Crowley helped him ease back to the floor.

“Perfect,” he whispered, so only Aziraphale could hear him.

“Isn’t it all?” Aziraphale said, beaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I needed to write something lighthearted to offset the angst of my other WIPs. If you'd like to keep up with what I'm doing next, I'd love for you to subscribe to me on AO3 or follow me on my poorly maintained [tumblr @leilakalomi](https://leilakalomi.tumblr.com) or my even worse [twitter @LeilaKalomi](https://twitter.com/LeilaKalomi) (so tempting, I know)!


End file.
